Le Témoignage
by rdrose
Summary: When four people are found dead in a church in Ohio, the only thing standing between police investigators and the truth is one small, scared witness with a language barrier – that is, until you show up (alongside the Winchesters) and save the day.


**A/N:** This was really just meant to be a drabble to exercise my french language skills, but I got a bit carried away. I don't usually write fluffy little stories like this, so this is my first attempt, I suppose.

For the record, I haven't included translations within the text – rather, I intend for you to be able to understand most of what's being said with general context clues. I'll include a few general translations in the end notes.

Please note: this work is not beta'd. And while I've studied french for several years, I have so, so very much left to learn – so any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Please bear with me; any and all feedback is sincerely appreciated!

* * *

"Sorry – this is a closed crime scene. I'm gonna have to ask you—"

"Yeah, I'm Agent Walsh, FBI," Sam says, holding up his fake badge. "These are my partners, Agents Frey and Henley." You and Dean go through the motions, holding up your own badges to show the officer.

The officer gives a fake smile. "Well then – right this way, I suppose. We weren't expecting the FBI to show up."

As the three of you follow the officer into the church, Dean asks him, "So what do we know so far?"

"Very little. We've got four dead, with no apparent connection between them, all seemingly exsanguinated, found this morning when Father Durand over there first came in." He gestures to the priest being questioned by other officers over by the altar.

Sam interjects, "Any witnesses?"

"Just one. Little boy, maybe six or seven years old. Found him sitting on the steps outside the back door – it was left unlocked, we think. But he's babbling in another language – no one can get a word of English out of him. They said they were gonna bring him in to the station and have social services come pick him up."

The three of you exchange looks. "What language?"

* * *

"You got this," Sam says, patting your shoulder for encouragement.

"God, I hope so. Maybe he can tell us something helpful," you say. "Will you guys stick with me? Maybe help direct the questioning?"

"You got it, princess," Dean says.

Approaching the little boy is like approaching a malnourished, abused puppy, and it breaks your heart. He's dirty, his dark hair and his little tee shirt crusty with dried blood. He flinches when you crouch down to speak to him.

"Non, non, non – tu vas bien. Tu vas bien," you coo, trying desperately to calm him down. He looks so hopeful when he hears you speak; the officers have probably been just _talking_ at him profusely since discovering him, so you can't imagine what it must feel like to finally be spoken to by someone whom you can understand. "Oui, c'est mieux," you say, smiling softly at him. "Désolé si mon français n'est pas très bonne, mais je vais essayer."

"Find out what his name is," Dean presses.

"Sure," you say. You ask the boy, "Tu t'appelles comment, bien-aimé?"

"Je… je m'appelle Thomas." He pauses for a moment before asking, "J'ai des ennuis?"

You shake your head emphatically, hoping that he understands. "Non, non – tu n'as pas des ennuis." You turn to Sam and Dean. "The kid thinks he's in _trouble_ , for god's sake. They've probably been yelling at him all day." You speak loud enough for the nearby officers to hear, and most of them have half a mind to look at least somewhat remorseful. "Hey, as-tu faim? Ou soif?"

"Oui," he replies with a nod. "S'il vous plaît."

"Tu voudrais une crème glacée?" He nods again, this time with a smile on his face. You take pride in the accomplishment. You pull a ten-dollar bill out of your wallet and turn to the closest officer, saying, "You – would you mind going across the street to get our friend here an ice cream and a bottle of water, please?" The officer nods with wide eyes, taking the money and the order and practically fleeing with them.

"I've never heard you sound so polite yet so annoyed all in the same sentence," Dean remarks. At this point, all of the officers and the clergy members in the vicinity have gathered around to listen to the little boy speak.

"Alors – nous voudrions à demander quelques-uns questions. D'accord?" He nods. "Tu as vu—shit, hang on. I forget how to say that." You have to pause to think for a minute. "Tu as vu… tu as vu ce qui s'est passé?"

"J'ai fait, oui. J'ai vu."

"He says he saw what happened." The boys' faces are awash with relief. "Qu'as-tu vu?" Thomas hesitates to answer you now – probably not wanting to admit to having seen something superatural. "Les autres religieuses… Elles priaient. Ensuite, elles blessent les gens. Et les gens sont morts." He starts to cry again, and you shush him.

Dean asks, "What'd he say?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. Hang on," you say. "Merci, Thomas. Tu as été très utile. Merci." At this point, the officer returns with the ice cream and water bottle, and you give it to Thomas – this seems to placate him at least a little bit. "Thomas, où habite tu?"

"J'habite avec ma mère, mon père, ma sœur, et ma grand-mère." He seems to just be babbling now, but it's very sweet. "Nous habitons dans La Haute-Saint-Charles."

Sam looks _very_ confused. "Okay, wait – he _definitely_ just said that he's from Quebec."

"Wait, like in Canada?"

"No, Dean – like in Argentina," you deadpan. " _Yes_ , like Canada."

"That explains the French," Sam says, "but what the hell is he doing in Ohio?"

"I'm not really sure. Comment es-tu arrivé ici, Thomas?"

He shrugs. "Je ne sais pas."

"Alright, can I speak to you outside, Agents?" You make a point to do a little show of professionalism for the people around you. "Pardon, Thomas – je reviendrai."

" _NON!"_ He positively clings to your leg, like you're his only lifeline.

"C'est bon – tu vas bien. Je promets." You continue speaking to him, obviously addressing the other officers: "Now, these officers are going to be _very_ nice to you, okay? _Très_ gentil, d'accord?" He nods, letting go of you hesitantly.

* * *

The three of you have excused yourselves to speak in private outside of the church.

"Okay, so what'd he say?"

You clear your throat. "He, um – he said it was the nuns."

"As in, the nuns we saw inside?"

"No, he said 'the other nuns.' The way he described it to me made me think it was like a cult of vampire nuns."

"That sounds like a weird rock band," Dean remarks, earning unimpressed glares from both you and Sam.

"Anyway," you continue, ignoring Dean's comment, "he said that the nuns were praying, and then they hurt and killed the people. I know there's no connection between the people, but—"

"Actually," Sam interjects, "I spoke to Father Durand, and he said that all of the vics worked somewhere along this main street. They must've just been walking by or something – just in the wrong place or the wrong time."

"So, we got a weird cult of vampire nuns, who might not even really be nuns, and four people dead. But what about the kid?"

"Okay, so this is kind of a long shot," Sam says, "but hear me out: what if he's a prophet? They could've been doing some sort of twisted religious blood sacrifice, and in the process, they might've inadvertently summoned him here. I can't think of any other reason for why he'd end up in Ohio, in a church of all places, without any memory of how he got here."

"No, I don't think that's really _that_ farfetched. Not in our line of work, at least," you say.

"Either way, I think we should probably figure out who his parents are and give them a call – let them know he's okay," Dean says.

"And I think someone who speaks French should probably make that phone call," Sam adds.

You huff in mock-annoyance, secretly very pleased to have been been able to help solve the mystery. "Yeah, yeah. I'll get right on it."

"Hey, you were, uh—" Sam rubs the back of his neck, signaling his discomfort. "That was pretty awesome – what you did in there."

"Yeah, seriously. You may suck ass at drawing sigils and devil's traps—"

" _Hey!"_

"—but damn, if you didn't just save the day in there. Nice work, kiddo."

"Yeah. That was pretty freakin' badass, if I do say so myself."

"It was kinda hot, too."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam says, smacking his brother in the arm. "But seriously," he says, leaning in to whisper in your ear, "that was _definitely_ hot."

* * *

 **A/N:** The title of this fic is 'Le Témoignage,' which translates to 'The Testimony' in french.

Reviews fuel me. Let me know what you think!

A few general translations, for those who are interested:

"Tu vas bien." – You're okay.  
"Oui, c'est mieux." – Yes, that's better.  
"Désolé si mon français n'est pas très bonne, mais je vais essayer." – Sorry if my french is not very good, but I'll try.  
"Alors – nous voudrions à demander quelques-uns questions. D'accord?" – So, we would like to ask a few questions. Alright?  
"Tu as vu ce qui s'est passé?" – Did you see what happened?  
"Tu as été très utile." – You were very helpful.  
"Comment es-tu arrivé ici?" – How did you get here?  
"Je reviendrai." – I'll be back.  
"C'est bon – tu vas bien. Je promets." – It's okay – you're okay. I promise.


End file.
